


Our Chosen Homes

by kaiface



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble Collection, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiface/pseuds/kaiface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories written for prompts centering on Krem and Dorian, both far from home and yet not very far at all.</p><p>Each story stands independently, unless otherwise stated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **1\. First Meeting**   
>  _Krem stumbles upon a fellow countryman in the last place he expected to find one._

Krem has never been into the library at Skyhold, and it takes him a few tries to find it, thanks to the Iron Bull's useless directions. Castles were never one of Krem's strong suits to begin with, and this one is more like a maze than an actual building. Nothing is where he expects it to be, and that apparently includes the library. This is what he gets for spending so much time outside, he guesses.  
  
The chief needs a book, and had apparently decided Krem was the guy to go get it, for some reason he hadn't been able to discern. He had written the title down on a scrap of paper and given it to Krem before sending him off with a none-too-gentle slap on the back, and Bull's booming laughter echoed behind him as he entered the castle, grumbling all the while. It was a thoughtful gesture, sure, but Krem is still lamenting over having to find a single book in an entire room full of books when he finally finds the library. He's overwhelmed by the sight of it at first; Skyhold itself is big and the library is not small by any measure. It might be the largest library Krem has ever laid eyes on.  
  
It's also empty, and he's having a hard time deciding if that's a blessing or a curse as he starts a slow stroll along the perimeter of the room. He's trying to pay attention to the shelves, holding the scrap of paper at eye level as he scans each row of books for something that might be what he's looking for. His search leads him into a corner of the library that looks like it's become someone's home away from home. There's a plush velvet chair surrounded by several stacks of books, several of which have candles burning atop them, small puddles of melted wax fixing them to the covers of tomes and obscuring their titles.

No one is around, so he wanders further into the space. There's a book opened on one arm of the chair, the spine facing upward, like the reader had set it down with the intention of coming right back. Krem sees the title is in Tevene, which sparks his interest, and he picks it up. He's skimming the pages, trying to glean the contents of the book from that alone, when someone behind him clears their throat. Krem is so startled he fumbles the book, managing to keep from dropping it only by clutching it to his chest. He spins on his heel and tries not to let his embarrassment show when he sees the handsome man standing there, one hand positioned on his hip.

“Can I help you?” His voice is deeper than Krem expects it to be, and he decides instantly that he likes it. The man's accent is subtle, maybe an effect of his time spent in the south, but he's obviously Tevinter just like Krem. Before Krem can muster up a response, he sees the man's gaze flick down to the book, and his lips twitch slightly beneath his impeccably groomed mustache. “That's a priceless volume you're clutching like a stuffed toy, I'll have you know.”

Krem's fingers uncurl from around the edge of the book almost unconsciously, and he holds it in both hands as he offers it over. He's acutely aware of the man's gaze sweeping over him, scrutinizing, as he accepts the book and then surveys it for damage. Apparently satisfied, he sets it atop one of the various stacks and turns his gaze back to Krem, who shifts uncomfortably.

“You're far from home,” Krem says in Tevene, and he revels in the flicker of surprise that crosses the man's face before an unreadable mask settles over his features. When Krem speaks this time, it's in common tongue, “I didn't mean to pry. I was looking for a book.”

The man laughs, and it's a beautiful sound.

“Well, you _are_ in a library,” his tone is teasing, and there's a spark of amusement in his eyes. “I'd say there's no better place to find a book, but the selection here is painfully lacking. What are you looking for?”

Krem shows him the scrap of paper with Bull's chicken-scratch writing, and it only takes him a few minutes of diligent searching to find the book, leaving Krem feeling mildly foolish. Then again, the man seems to practically live in the library, and when he return to his corner, Krem follows him back.

“Thank you for helping me,” he says, then extends his hand for the other man to shake, book tucked carefully under his arm. “I'm Krem, by the way.”

“Dorian,” he replies, and his hand is cool and soft, but the various rings on his fingers offer a slightly colder, harder contrast. Dorian's lips curl upward into a slight smirk, and Krem finds he likes watching the way the his mustache follows the curve of his mouth. Krem is surprised when Dorian keeps a firm grip on his hand a bit longer than necessary, scrutinizing gaze sweeping over him again. “You're one of Bull's boys, aren't you?”

Krem puffs up with pride at the mention of the Chargers, but he tries to contain the gleeful expression that threatens to burst forth with it.

“Yeah, that's right,” he probably sounds too excited as he says it, but Dorian doesn't seem to judge him for it. Instead, he simply smiles and releases Krem's hand. Krem lets himself smile briefly before he remembers himself, and he squares his shoulders slightly, trying to put some roughness back in his posture, which has inexplicably relaxed in Dorian's presence. “If there's anything I can do to repay you...”

“Nonsense,” Dorian waves a hand dismissively and moves to the window, glancing over his shoulder at Krem as he continues. “Call it a favor. Although if you insist on repayment, I wouldn't turn down a bottle of Tevinter wine, if you happen upon one.”

Krem looks out the window past Dorian and sees the Chargers in the practice yard, doing drills. He's suddenly grateful for the small, private mission that Bull had sent him on, and even more so for the company it's awarded him.

“If I find one, you'll be the first to know,” he says agreeably, and then before he can chicken out, he adds, “Although if you ever fancy a pint of cheap Ferelden ale, there's plenty at the tavern. I'd be glad to buy you a drink, sometime.”

Dorian looks surprised by the flirt, like he can't decide if it's actually meant to be one or not. He studies Krem's face for a long minute, then finally offers a smile that is, quite frankly, dazzling.

“I'd like that,” he says, and they look at each other for another beat before Krem offers one last charming smile and dismisses himself.

Later in the tavern when he brings Bull the book, the chief asks him if he “ran into that other 'Vint, y'know, the pretty one.” Krem smiles and takes a long drink of his ale, which is all the answer Bull needs apparently, because he claps Krem on the shoulder and laughs, and laughs.

 


	2. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **2\. First Kiss**
> 
> _What use are friends if they don't announce your crush to everyone, including your crush?_

The tavern is the warmest building in all of Skyhold.

That's what Dorian tells himself, anyway, as if he needs an excuse to be there. Lately, he's been spending far more time there than is probably appropriate; having an excuse makes him feel a little better about it, anyway. His usual corner of the library has gotten impossibly colder over the past few weeks, as the snowfall in their mountain fortress has increased, and the frost that had been creeping at the edges of the window has now nearly covered the entire pane. No amount of candles or magic seems to keep the space warm enough after sundown, anymore.

So he goes to the tavern. It's become a nightly thing – not quite a tradition, but near enough to count, perhaps – that when the natural light gets too low, he abandons his books and his candles and seeks warmer, living company.

Bull and his merry band of misfits laid claim to a corner of the tavern the very first day they settled in at Skyhold, and the first time Dorian's resolve broke down and he went in for a drink, he found himself being welcomed into the fold. Once he and Bull had gotten over their initial trepidations regarding one another, they got along spectacularly. The rest of the Chargers accepted Dorian like he was one of their own, which was both alarming and mildly endearing. They slung insults and teasing nicknames over mugs of Ferelden pisswater – excuse him, _fine Ferelden ale_ – and Dorian gave as good as he got, and everything was grand.

After a while, his presence was so expected that they had begun to save him a seat. He sat on Bull's left, and Krem sat on his right, and together they taunted and teased. Sometimes he and Krem told stories of Tevinter, exaggerated tales that they weaved together to shock and awe the other mercenaries. Occasionally, they would meet each others' gaze behind Bull's back, and the sparkle in Krem's eyes would make Dorian grin.

When he arrives at the tavern tonight, however, the seating arrangement has changed. Dorian sees his spot next to Bull is open, but instead of sitting in his usual spot on Bull's right, Krem is on the other side of Dorian's seat. He pauses in the doorway and stares, bewildered, as Krem waves him over. After a moment, the cold air at his back pushes him forward, and he takes his seat and the drink that Stitches shoves into his hand.

“Needed a change of pace, did we?” Dorian says to Krem over the rim of his mug. He glances in Bull's direction, but the man is preoccupied, flirting heavily with a waitress. Krem shrugs and takes a long drink of his own ale, but something in his expression strikes Dorian as uncharacteristically sheepish.

“Chief thought this would be easier for our 'story time adventures,'” Krem explains after he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, grinning easily. Dorian quirks an eyebrow and takes a gulp of the bitter ale easily. He stopped wincing at the flavor after the first week, which was likely for the best, as it gave Skinner one less thing to tease him over. There's a girlish giggle somewhere to Dorian's right, and Krem's grin widens a fraction. “Plus, it's easier for him to flirt with the pretty waitresses when he doesn't have to lean around me to do it.”

It makes a fair bit of sense, he'll admit, but Dorian is still unconvinced that these are the _only_ reasons for the sudden rearrangement.

“There's an easier solution to that problem, you know,” Dorian says after he takes another drink, licking away a stray drop of ale from his lips.

“What's that?” Dalish asks, and Dorian smirks and throws his shoulders back, tipping his chin up slightly in the most arrogant posture he can manage.

“He could flirt with me instead of the waitresses,” he says matter-of-factly, and at least one person at the table lets out an exasperated groan. It's been a running joke at their nightly drinking sessions for some time now, and Dorian never got tired of bringing it up again. He was a heavy flirt and he knew it, and Bull wasn't exactly chaste himself; they had made a game of flirting with one another in the field to see who could rile the other up more, but it had never gone beyond flirtation. It's not that the interest was never there, but it seemed as if Bull was always preoccupied with someone else, and Dorian was not a patient man.

“Maybe you're not my type,” Bull rumbles beside him when the waitress wanders away to help another patron. He's teasing, Dorian can hear it in his tone, so he pretends to look shocked, bringing a hand to his chest.

“Excuse you,” he says, mock-offended tone haughty and pitched high. “I am _everyone's_ type.”

Bull and Skinner snort a laugh in unison, and Grim mutters something into his glass on Krem's left side, laughing loudly a second later when Krem throws a sharp elbow into his ribs.

“What was that?” Dorian asks, and Skinner speaks up from across the table.

“He said, 'You're Krem's type, at least,'” she repeats with a wicked grin, and Krem's face turns redder than Dorian's ever seen.

Ah. So _that's_ the reason for the new seating arrangement.

Dorian is struck momentarily speechless as he looks at Krem. The man is still red in the face and is resolutely not looking in his direction, but is instead glaring daggers at Skinner.

'If looks could kill,' Dorian thinks idly, then rolls his shoulders and finishes his beer, waving Bull's waitress over for a refill. The table is uncharacteristically silent as she takes several empty glasses away, and once she's disappeared, Bull grins sharply at Krem over Dorian's head.

“Aw, leave him alone, Skinner,” Bull says, but the teasing tone is still there, and Krem looks like he might crawl beneath the table at any second. “You know he's shy.”

“I hate all of you,” Krem mutters, face in his hands, and Dalish laughs.

“Well, not _all_ of us,” she looks at Dorian as she says it, and Krem groans in embarrassment, shoving away from the table suddenly. He's out the door in a few long strides, and a round of raucous laughter raises from the rest of the group. Dorian feels bad, although he didn't directly participate in the hazing, and he excuses himself before the waitress returns with his drink, ignoring the jeers and catcalls from the Chargers that follow him out the door.

He finds Krem perched on a crate a few paces away from the tavern, staring up at the overcast sky. His cheeks are still pink, but Dorian wonders if this is more from the cold than humiliation as the brisk mountain wind catches him by surprise. He wraps his arms around himself as he approaches, already shivering, but Krem still doesn't look at him. Dorian stands beside the crate stubbornly for several long minutes, staring at his own feet, shivering and miserable, before Krem finally speaks.

“You gonna make it, Hothouse?” His tone is so soft that Dorian almost misses the question beneath the whistle of wind around the buildings. Dorian tips his chin up and sniffs daintily, then again when he realizes the cold air has set his nose to running.

“I'll survive,” he says, then after a few beats of silence, “They mean well, you know.”

“I know that,” Krem snaps, and Dorian looks at him, surprised by his tone. Krem immediately looks guilty and sighs, finally turning his gaze toward Dorian. He doesn't look directly at him, instead focusing on Dorian's shivering hands where they're clenched around his own arms. “Sorry, I didn't mean to...”

He waves a hand and trails off, looking uncomfortable. It's dark, but Dorian can see the crease between Krem's brows in the dim yellow light filtering through the dirty windows of the tavern, and he has to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

Dorian is not a patient man.

“Well?” He says, tone expectant and maybe a little snippy, but he can't feel his toes, and Krem is just sitting there looking at him with a mildly pained expression. “Are you going to kiss me, or am I losing feeling in my extremities for no reason?”

Krem laughs, a noise of pure surprise, and hops down from his crate. Dorian thinks for a second that Krem is going to walk right past him and back into the tavern, and his heart leaps into his throat at the thought, but then Krem's hand is curling around the back of his neck and he's being pulled forward into a slow, sweet kiss. His hand is warm and his mouth tastes like ale, and Dorian melts into it, peeling his arms away from himself to place a hand on Krem's shoulder.

It's over too soon, Krem pulling back a few inches to gauge Dorian's reaction, teeth catching his lip nervously, but the hand on his shoulder keeps him from going too far.

“Was that okay?” Krem asks, and it's Dorian's turn to laugh, a soft noise that dies in his throat as he closes the distance between their mouths, delivering his answer in another kiss.

 


End file.
